


When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again

by Morvith



Series: For me and my guy [2]
Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cottia is an awesome friend, Cradoc is an awesome friend, Established Relationship, For Me and My Gal AU, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Marcus has issues, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvith/pseuds/Morvith
Summary: For me and my gal/World War I AU. Companion piece to "For Me and My Guy". January 1919. Marcus is back in New York, but now that he's missing a leg, home is forever out of reach. Or so he thinks.
Relationships: Marcus Flavius Aquila/Esca Mac Cunoval
Series: For me and my guy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668247
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again

~~_My Dearest_ ~~

~~_Dearest Esca_ ~~

_~~My love~~ _

_Dear Esca and Cottia,_

_I am writing this to let you know that I'm alive ~~but I wish I wasn't~~_

_I'm sorry_

~~_I shouldn't have gone but I didn't have a choice, it was a lie when I said I volunteered, I was drafted and I wish I had broken my hand like I half thought when I got the news a man doesn't need a hand to dance but I couldn't I thought I... I don't know what I thought anymore_ ~~

_I lost my left leg._

~~_I was told it was mangled by shrapnel and it got infected and I'm lucky to be alive but I don't remember any of that_ ~~

_I'm a cripple and I can never dance again._

~~_Better me than you Esca, I am so, so glad you never saw France my love, it was nothing like the songs say nothing like nothing on Earth even Hell couldn't be that bad_ ~~

_I guess it's the end of The Three Macs_

_I'm sorry_

~~_I'm ruined_ ~~

_I ruined everything_

~~_I'm useless_ ~~

~~_I love you please say you_ ~~

_I'm so, so sorry._

_Thank you for everything you have done for me, you were the best friends a man could desire. It was an honor and privilege to have met you, to have shared the stage with you. I shall always cherish the memory our time together ~~it was the only thing that kept me sane~~_

_Thank you for everything you have done for me, I could never hope to repay you ~~especially now~~. I will miss you ~~I'll never be whole without you~~ and our time together. _

~~_I love you_ ~~

_Do not worry about me. I'll be fine. You owe me nothing, you have already given me too much._

~~_I hope you'll think of me sometimes. I'll think of you every day even if it hurts even if it kills me_ ~~

_I wish you all the best, every happiness and success. You deserve it._

~~_With all my love_ ~~

~~_Kind regards_ ~~

_Yours,_

_Marcus F. Aquila_

Marcus puts down his pencil and sighs, rubbing his eyes. Another disaster of a letter. He can't send this to Esca and Cottia, but they need to know, he has to tell them somehow. He can't just... show up in person, no, he'd rather walk across No Man's Land under a barrage of shells rather than let them see him like this.

Perhaps he ought to write Guern?

But Esca will never forgive him if he does... Marcus almost snorts. Esca will never forgive him for losing his leg.

No, he's being unfair. Esca would forgive him anything, but he shouldn't. What use is he to him and Cottia if he can't dance?

Oh, they'd argue, they'd swear up, down and sideways that they still need him, but Marcus knows the truth: they are the real talent, he is...he was just a homeless kid they picked up on the way. Cottia has got the best voice, Esca has got an unparalleled gift for coming up with amazing dance routines and Marcus... Marcus was tall and strong and good at lifts, but not anymore.

He's a cripple, the definition of dead weight. Esca deserves better than that.

“Marcus?” A well-known voice calls and Marcus looks up into Fred Cradoc's worried eyes. “Are you ready? We have to go or we'll miss the show.”

Marcus already has an excuse on the tip of his tongue – he's too tired, he feels feverish, take somebody else, but there's a certain look in Fred's eyes that says that if Marcus tries to demure, he will sling him over his shoulders and carry him by force if he has to. He hasn't done it yet, but he has threatened it often enough and Marcus has lost enough weight in the hospital that the bastard might even manage it.

“I'm ready.” Marcus replies dryly, crumpling up his letter with one hand as he grabs his crutch with the other.

Fred walks slowly to match his hobbling gait and manages to look as though that's exactly the pace he would set even if he was walking alone.

“I don't even know why I'm bothering.” Marcus grumbles. “I should just stay in and work on that damn letter.”

“You couldn't find the worlds the last six weeks, I don't think inspiration will strike this afternoon,” Fred replies. “Come on, the Army is paying and we must take full advantage of that before they change their mind!”

Fred has got a point there. The Army owes them rather more than a ride and a show, even more than a pension, but the Army is notoriously stingy when it comes to paying its soldiers back.

Whatever the higher ups have planned this time, it must be something big: Marcus is surrounded by Army green and Navy blue, all grunts like him. These colors, these uniforms should grate on his nerves, but in truth, he's so used to it he finds it reassuring.

He doesn't know what he will do once he'll be back in civilian clothes. He can't go back to the man he was before the war, no matter how much he might wish it.

He does a double take when he finally sees where they are – The Palace Theater, and isn't that a knife to the heart. Of course it had to be the Palace Theater, they were hardly going to organize a show for their brave boys in some pokey, third-rate theater with a wobbly stage and a moth-eaten curtain.

Of course the only way he'd ever get inside it would be in the audience... He crosses the lobby as quickly as he can without looking at the billboards. The Thee Macs aren't on any of them – they almost were, right when he got his draft letter and everything went to shit, but no more. The Two Macs will be someday, he is sure of it, Esca and Cottia are just too good. It is their dream more than it ever was his, but it hurts anyway.

Fred somehow gets them a seat in the tenth row. Marcus has long since stopped wondering how Fred manages to get things done.

The lights dim and Marcus wonders if he shouldn't have refused to come, after all. Maybe he should try to...let go. Say goodbye. Not to Esca and Cottia, not yet, he will write them a coherent letter if it's the last thing he ever does, he owes them that much.

But this life is over for him and it's time to face it. Accept it. He's not sure how, but... he hasn't got a choice, has he?

So he leans back against his seat and lets the introductory speech wash over him. He sits, watches and listens, tries to take it all in without comparing Gwyn O'Mara's voice to Cottia's or dissecting Palmer & Hayden's dance routine.

He's just another man in the audience enjoying the show. He doesn't even recognize most of the acts.

Until the host announces Iceni and Mac and Marcus suddenly can't breathe because that's... that's...

Cottia and Esca, right there on the stage, and he had been on the lookout for The Two Macs, Esca never said... He thought they'd wait for him...

Cottia starts to sing. Her voice rings out, clear and cheerful. She's even better than he remembered.

“ _When Johnny comes marching home again, hurray, hurray_

_We'll give him a hearty welcome then, hurray, hurray,_

_All the men will cheer, the boys will shout and we'll all feel gay when_

_Johnny comes marching home!_ ”

More than a year apart, months spent staring at their pictures and going through their letters over and over, then months when all he could think of were their faces, their voices, the way they moved, all of them, and now they are here in front of him. It hurts, God, it hurts so much...

“ _Strike up the band!_ ” Esca joins in in perfect harmony. “ _Let the bells ring out!_

_Strike up the band, let the people shout,”_

They are wonderful. Perfect. It's like the first time he saw them, back in Boston, back in 1911. Tears prickle at his eyes, but he will not cry, not now, not here.

A spin and they're facing the audience and every fiber in Marcus' body wants to shrink back, hide, disappear, but at the same time he can't look away from them, from Esca. It's the last time, the very last time he sees him and Marcus won't look away. He can't. Even with six years worth of memories, he is greedy, he needs to have one more. His copy of the picture they took before he left was destroyed, memories will be all he has left.

“ _And every mother's son of you,_

 _that means you, and you, and you, and..._ ”

Esca's voice falters, he trails off and _stops_ , right in the middle of their number and if Marcus had both his legs, he'd be doing something stupid like rushing on the stage because Esca doesn't do that, he just doesn't stop in the middle of a song, only if the theater is on fire, why does he look like that, what's wrong with him...

Esca shouts his name and he's looking at him, straight at him, he's running down the stairs and up the aisle with Cottia at his heels and Marcus isn't sure whether this is a dream or a nightmare. He still stands to meet them and their combined weight almost sends him crashing back in his seat but for Fred's arm.

The entire hall is a mess of noise, with the band still playing and the soldiers and sailors cheering and clapping, but Marcus can't hear anything because Esca kisses him lightning-quick once, twice, and his heart soars, he wants to hold him and never let go, kiss him again and never stop.

“Where the Hell have you been, you asshole?!” Esca shouts, and Marcus suddenly remembers why this is an awful idea.

He puts as much space as he can between, but he can't look at him or at Cottia. He still knows the exact moment they realize – even with all that noise, he can hear Esca's sharp intake of breath and Cottia's whispered, “Oh, Marcus...”

“I'm sorry.” He says because he is, for everything, and they must know. “I should have... I didn't know how tell you.”

“You fucking idiot,” Esca growls and his arms are around him again, holding him close. “You're alive, that's the only thing that matters. Everything else, we'll figure it out.”

Cottia nods and punches his shoulder with unusual gentleness and throws her arms around him, too.

Marcus feels himself relax, leaning into their touch. He suddenly realizes he's smiling and he can't stop, because he knows them and they mean it, every single world. They still want him – Esca still wants him, he's got that look in his eyes that says that Marcus should expected a thorough kissing, and possibly more, as soon as they can find a quiet, private corner.

Neither he nor Cottia will abandon him, even if he's broken.

Esca and Cottia exchange a look and the next thing Marcus knows they are shepherding toward the stage, among even more cheers and in spite of his protests. As he negotiates the stairs with alarming speed, he sees Fred Cradoc – and God only knows how he made it to the orchestra pit – pushing the pianist over, sit himself down and start playing their old hit “For Me and My Gal.” It suddenly occurs to him that Cradoc might not be entirely innocent in the whole affair, but he can't follow through on that thought because Esca and Cottia are heading straight for the center stage.

“Are you crazy? I can't dance!” Marcus shouts, his words hidden from the audience by the choir.

“So sing!” Esca replies, turning him toward the audience and wrapping an arm around his shoulders while Cottia throws both arms around his waist on his right. They may be holding him up, but it feels like a hug, a promise.

“ _The bells are ringing for me and my gal,_

_The birds are singing for me and my gal,_

_Everybody's been knowing, to a wedding they're going..._ ”

It's amazing. It feels like... like... Marcus doesn't have the words to describe it. He never thought he'd be back here, on a stage, with Cottia and Esca. It's a dream come true, more than it was back in Boston in 1911.

“ _They're congregatin' for me and my gal_

_The parson's waiting for me and my gal_

_and sometime we're gonna build a little home_

_for two or three or four or maybe more_ ”

He's home, he's truly home and Cottia still cares, Esca still loves him, still wants him. He couldn't wish for more, not even for his leg back.

Whatever happens now, he has a future, with Esca and Cottia.

“ _In Loveland for me and my gal!_ ”

“ _In Loveland for me and my guy!_ ”

Marcus doesn't blush, his voice doesn't tremble. He doesn't kiss Esca like he's craving to, doesn't even glance at him, but his hand grasps Esca's left shoulder and holds on tightly.

The song ends and they bow as the audience cheers and claps, as the host announces triumphantly, “Ladies and gentlemen, The Three Macs!”

More cheering, and some people shout for an encore, but they just bow again and leave their place to the next act.

He has just sang at the Palace. With Cottia and Esca. Marcus can't quite believe it. It feels like his heart will explode like a firework, while his head feels much too light. He lets Cottia and Esca steer him through the maze of corridors to a dressing room and a chair.

Belatedly, he realizes that somehow Fred made it backstage with them and is now standing by the door.

Cottia is strangely quiet. Esca keeps staring at him as though he'll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off of him. It's strange, this silence between them, but somehow not awkward.

Cottia recovers first, as usual: she bends down and hugs him tightly, kisses his cheek. “It's so good to have you back, Marcus,” she says. “We missed you. Especially Esca.”

Then she straightens and turns to Fred, who has enough sense to look worried. “You must be the fabled Fred. Marcus wrote us so much about you!” She grabs his arm and none-too-subtly steers him back to the door. “Thanks for looking after him. I believe you're a fan of Gwyn O'Mara? Let's see if I can introduce you!”

The door closes softly behind them. He and Esca are alone in the dressing room, the sounds of the show still distantly filtering in – something that has happened both a thousand times already and never before.

Marcus looks up at Esca, meeting his eyes. He'd love nothing more than lose himself in them, but he owes him more than that, even if he doesn't know where to start. “Esca...”

Esca falls to his knees before him, cups his face in his hands and kisses him slow and deep – the kind of kiss that makes Marcus feel like he's burning all over. The kind of kiss he can feel down to his toes, a kiss to lose himself in, but Marcus has never felt so grounded.

Marcus wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him back, hoping it will convey all the words that have been trapped in his heart for so long – all his I love yous and I miss yous and sorrys.

Eventually, Esca breaks the kiss, but he doesn't move away, leaning his forehead against Marcus'. “Never leave me again,” he breathes against his lips.

“Never,” Marcus promises. He has gone through Hell once already – even without a leg, he'd do it again and much worse. Anything to be with Esca.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the whole "Esca only stops performing if the theater is on fire" was not an exaggeration. 
> 
> Anybody spotted the "For me and my Gal" reference? 
> 
> I suppose I am incapable of truly writing one-shots anymore. I was almost tempted to call the series "Tous les trois réunis" but that's opera, not vaudeville. 
> 
> All joking aside, I hadn't planned to write this (thanks a lot, muse! Can we please work on the other 3 WIPs now?) and I hope you enjoyed it.


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